I am Nothing
by Izzia
Summary: 15 year old Cloud has always had a tendency to forget who he really is in favour of thinking he’s someone better & more successful. Maybe Zack wasn’t the first he emulated…


_A/N: This is set in Nibelhiem, though for the purpose of the story it's bigger than the one in the game, more of an average size for a town with a school and that sort of thing that the game version of the town doesn't have._

_Rated for a few cuss words. _

**I am Nothing. **

What do they see when their eyes drift in my direction? Do they see anything? Why should they notice me? I'm not special or extraordinary.

I sat on a low stone wall outside of school watching the world pass by me, friends making jokes, boys chasing girls and girls pretending like they didn't like the attention. A gabble of girls passed right by me laughing. Were they laughing at me? I smiled up to them in case they were. But they weren't. Why should they notice me? I'm nothing special. The bell for afternoon lessons sang out, I sighed and ran my agile fingers through soft blonde hair standing up, swinging my shoulder bag onto my back and heading towards the building. Alone. I was always alone, I was never good at connecting with people, all I was good ever for was watching the world pass me by.

It was English class; the room was dusty and smelt of old books, bars of light streamed in through the half shuttered out windows, chalk dust putting a razor edge onto the bars. The teacher wore a tweed jacket and half moon spectacles, his stubby moustache often caught stray bits of lunch and his gelled back hair reflected the light oddly. But it was not the teacher who took my attention; it was a girl two rows in front, trying her best to listen to the teacher through the distraction of her friends. All her friends were all boys. The four of them were inseparable, I couldn't understand it. They were all so immature, like they couldn't understand the world around them while they were wrapped in bubbles of being TV obsessed products of the modern world. Laughing and playing, unthinking machines of their generation. I shook my head, angry with myself and knowing I was getting stupid again, kids weren't meant to think like I do. Tifa and her dumb friends were just normal kids; I'm the one who's messed up. But I could not ignore the radiance of Tifa Lockheart, her glossy dark hair, those deep eyes and her uplifting laugh. She could never notice me though; I was invisible to her, a piece of gum on the pavement. Nothing.

English ticked by, we were studying a book about a man and a woman who loved one another to the point of madness. Wuthering Heights. It was complicated, but I could sort of relate to these people some how. As the teacher droned on I got lost in my thoughts for the book. Bored and fed up of being myself I let my mind think I was someone else, something different. Scenarios from the story mixed with myself rushed through my mind, I allowed myself to get lost in my fantasy, so totally submerged in it that any bearing on reality was lost. Until my name was called out.

"And what about you boy! Cloud. What do you think about the book?" Rage filled me entirely, my eyes fierce and jaw set in anger, I lost it, lost myself.

"They all deserved what they got, the bastards, sometimes I wonder if I should have just stayed in Liverpool. Better to be an orphan than the lover of a dead bitch. Why does she have my heart enraged so? I hate it. I hate them all." I didn't know who spoke the words for me, they came out of my mouth, but they weren't entirely my thoughts. Knowledge of myself returned in a horrible instant, I sagged, blue eyes dropping down and cheeks flushing as everyone looked around to me, some laughing. I had done it again. No wonder no one went near me, I'm crazy. What normal person hates themselves so entirely that they make up alternative, better versions of themselves? Well, probably quite a few, but not so many went as far as actually thinking fantasy was reality. I must really hate myself.

"Um…well, good characterisation Cloud…" the teacher quickly moved onto asking someone else, they always freak when a kid with problems speaks up. Their solution is always the same. Pretend like it never happened. Try and remember to ignore that kid in future. But the stares from my classmates lingered on me for a little while longer. That was the only time people ever saw me, the only time they noticed my existence. Why couldn't they notice me when I wasn't spazzing out? Maybe if they did my mind wouldn't hate itself so much that it fools me into thinking I am someone else entirely.

School passed by slowly, as it did every day, I don't know why I bothered going, I never learnt anything new. But it made my mother pleased; I just couldn't bear to be any more of a disappointment to her than I already was. I took the long way home, walking behind Tifa and her friends as I often did. Maybe one day she'd turn around and notice me there, invite me over and share jokes with me. I laughed to myself. A bitter laugh laced with self-loathing. Like hell she'd want to invite me into her circle of friends, I was nothing to her. Nothing.

It was Wednesday today. Therapy day. I hated my therapist, perhaps not the guy personally, but the fact that I had to see a therapist. I was fifteen years old. Kids are meant to play make believe aren't they? Maybe they were all right, I took my make believe a step too far. So what? I'm a mental case. Who cares? No one. Well, maybe mum cared… I pushed the heavy wooden door open, my bag feeling heavy against my shoulders… But mothers were meant to care, she didn't count.

His office was upstairs; I loved the way they creaked as I went up them. I don't know why. But I did. I pressed my lips together in semi-nervousness before knocking on the wooden door, waiting for his drawling voice to shout 'enter.' I always thought that he paused before answering each time on purpose, to put me on edge so that I'd go skitso on him. Therapists are weird. As usual I had to wait for forty two seconds before he said to enter. Yeah, I timed it. Forty two seconds. I swear, he was the one who needed a therapist.

I opened the door and shuffled in, shaking his hand, avoiding eye contact.

"Hello sir." I said in my polite voice. I had been seeing him for four years by then. But it never got any less formal. He gestured to the lumpy armchair opposite him and I sat in it, placing my bag to the side and getting myself comfortable, blue eyes resting on the ground, lips pressed together. His office was kind of big, with a large bay window that soaked the room in light, a wooden globe sat on a stand near the sturdy wooden desk that I never saw him sat at. In front of the desk was the comfy chair area. He always took the couch and I always took the armchair. The paintings on the walls were dark and gothic. When I first went to him I found myself lost to them. By now I knew them so well, every flaw, brush stroke and perfection. Sometimes I wished he'd change them and get new ones so that I could use them as a distraction as I did when I first came to him. But they never changed.

"How have you been this week?" He asked me. I let my eyes flick up to meet his hazel eyes, but I didn't let the contact last. He was a short man in his middle years, dark hair with white wings at his temples and a self-satisfied smugness to him that grated against me. I shrugged, sitting forwards, resting my elbows on my knees and clasping my hands together, the black wrist band on my right hand brushing against my skin as I did so.

"Fine." Was all I ever said to the first question, which was always the same.

"Have you had any episodes?" By that he meant had I forgot who I really was this week. Of course I did. When didn't I? I inhaled, and then exhaled sharply, blinking as I ordered my words.

"In English today I was Heathcliffe." I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I hated it, hated this guy in front of me, hated this guy inside of my head.

"I see. From Wuthering Heights?" I nodded. "Did you enjoy being Heathcliffe?" He asked me, concern filling his voice, Heathcliffe was screwed up too, why was I thinking I was someone who was screwed up?

"No. I don't know why I was Heathcliffe. I think I'd rather be me than that guy." He nodded, relieved maybe

"Good. Is that the only episode?" He asked, writing something on his paper. I swallowed and took my time to answer.

"No. I was this guy from my class who is friendly with this girl in my class." I explained my voice quiet and a little unsteady. That had been embarrassing when I snapped out of it and remembered I was Cloud. At least Tifa hadn't been there.

"Do you like this girl?" The therapist asked. I laughed in a nervous way, nervous but strong, I was lost for words, shrugging and looking across to the window

"Well..I…I dunno! I…" I laughed again, this time more bitterly.

"Would you like her to be your girlfriend?" He asked, I laughed harder, more acidly, more uncomfortable. Would I like her to be my girlfriend? Images entered my mind, of her boyfriend from last year. He was a jerk, but she liked him, until he pushed her too far. She was good with her fists and he had learnt the hard way. But I couldn't get his image out of my mind, the way he spoke about her with such confidence, he was everything that I wasn't. Confident, sure of himself, knew how to get the things he wanted…

"Yeah. I want to fuck her. Fuck her real hard, y'know. She digs me, who doesn't. I'd fuck every hot chick who crossed my path if I had the time." There was a cocked smile on my lips and a glint in my eye as I looked back at the guy, strong and straight. Reality crashed down in an instant and I snapped out of it, realising what I said, my features sagging, deflated. "Fuck." I said to myself miserably, hating me more for having become someone else in front of the therapist. It wasn't the first time though, nor the last. I leant back into the lumpy chair and looked off, away from the man scribbling away on his paper in front of me. "Fuck." I repeated under my breath, closing my eyes, ignoring the taste of bile in my mouth caused by my own self loathing.

"You want to sleep with this girl?" He asked me once he'd finished writing. I shook my head, biting down on my lip, looking off at nothing with eyes glazed over.

"No…yes…I dunno…it's never gunna happen though so why bother thinking about it?" I said really quietly, but he heard alright.

"Do you think about it?" Did I think about it? Shit yeah! I was fifteen, of course I did.

"I…I guess." I admitted. There was no point lying to him, my mum spent a lot of money for me to see this guy. 'Maybe one day he will make me better', and I wanted to be myself and like myself for who I was more than anything else in the world.

"Why do you think it won't happen?" Well duh! I laughed at it, a cold laugh, brushing my fingers through my softly spiked blonde hair.

"How long do you have?" I asked in a cold jesting tone of voice. He actually smiled at me, a fond smile. Maybe he liked me. I doubt it actually.

"Tell me all the reasons you think it will never happen." OK. I thought. Why not.

"I'm a mental case…" The acidity of my intonations coupled with my hard expressions gave away how I felt about my mental instability. But the therapist smiled

"Who isn't?" I chuckled, not as sourly as I would expect. I continued

"I'm unattractive.." He interrupted before I said the next reason, I didn't notice his expression because my eyes were staring fixedly on the floor.

"My fourteen year old daughter thinks you are very attractive. Her friends do as well. You are not unattractive Cloud." Whatever.

"I'm dull, boring, have no hobbies or interests to speak of…"

"Cloud, you are studying sword form, you are a great reader, a philosopher if you had the confidence to believe in what your own mind dreams up…" I ignored him, fired up now, licking my lips and allowing my eyes to dart from his to the far wall,

"I can't hold a conversation, I'm too shy…"

"Some people like that in a man, and you are here to grow a little self-confidence; that is the root of your problems…" My brows furrowed as I continued in a voice stronger than usual, I wanted to be heard for once; for someone, anyone to understand how it felt to be me.

"I have no aspirations in life, I'll become a nobody, a cloud, transparent, nothing but water and molecules. I am a cloud." He laughed at me, I guess maybe it was ironic that Cloud is my name. But I wasn't joking.

"You need to believe in yourself otherwise you won't end up being the person your mind wants you to be. You, Cloud Strife, can be great if you believe that you can be. You don't need to pretend you are someone else who is great. Be great for yourself." Easier said than done. But the hour was up and I was keen to get out of there, so I thanked him and stood, shouldering my bag and shaking his hand. "Think about what I said." He asked me, I nodded and left, making my way home, head down and brows furrowed.

_Authors Note: I dunno if I'll post any more chapters. I have a very loose story idea, but it's not really very good, so I might just leave it at that. We'll see. If you read it, review it (please!)_

_Cheers, Izzia._


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